


Home

by Sarandom_8



Category: Supernatural, deancas - Fandom, destiel - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Bunker, Confessions, DeanCas - Freeform, Home, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 21:54:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9847511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarandom_8/pseuds/Sarandom_8
Summary: After the awful day, thanks to Ramiel, they're back at the bunker. It'sa late, but Dean can't sleep and Castiel needs a new t-shirt.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My first time trying to write them in IC form.  
> I'm sorry for the english, as usual, but some phrases are better in this language. Even in my head they speak english xD

# Home.

 

A sound of footsteps reached him at the table. «Dean? Aren't you going to sleep?»

It was night and he stood in deep thought. It had been a difficult day; he had also spent worse moments, but too many things had happened that time.

 

There had been one thing in particular - and thinking about it, even if he was distracted by the angel - made he lose a slight puff. Finally, he turned to him and looked at him skeptically. The T-shirt was ripped to shreds, stained with blood; he was wearing a white shirt some way too big.

 

«Is it Sam's?»

 

Castiel looked at himself. «Yes.»

 

Dean got up, walked past him, touching his shoulder. «Come.»

Cas followed him to his room and Dean closed the door.

Cas remained at the center of the room while Dean was rummaging in a drawer and turned to give him a black shirt.

 

«Wear this.»

 

Castiel accepted it, taking off the white one to put on the new, still under the thoughtful look of Dean.

The hunter, in the end, sat down on the bed, the elbows on his knees, wringing his hands.

 

Castiel was still standing with his arms at his sides.

 

«Better, right?» asked Dean.

 

«Yes, thank you.» answered the angel, with a half smile.

 

Dean waved to sit next to him.

Castiel, who was always composed, waited for something he was sure was going to happen.

 

«What you said... is it true?» He didn't look at him, neither Castiel turned his face to answer. «What?»

 

«You know what.»

 

Castiel was starting to feel nervous. «I was dying, i-»

 

«Do you love me?»

 

«I love all of you.»

 

Dean took a deep breath.

 

«I'm very fon-»

 

«Cas.» interrupted Dean. «Do you love me?»

 

Cas glanced at the room. «Dean-» his lips trembled, as it had happened a short time before, when he was about to say goodbye. «We have been throught so many things together that...I-»

 

Dean ran a hand over his face, standing up and stood by the door.

He put his hand on the door frame and the other opened it violently.

Castiel did not understand, and sat, dumbfounded, as long as Dean continued to look down the hall; his face and jaw were contracted.

 

He had ruined everything with that declaration, and he had known it from he moment he had thought of saying it. 

 

Feeling broken, and trying to fight tears back, he got up slowly. When he was half way from the exit of the room, Dean closed it and grabbed him by the shirt, pulling him back in the door and keeping him there with a tight fist on his chest.

 

Castiel looked at him, his eyes reduced to slot as the other was so near.

 

«Why do you make me do this?»

 

«Dean, you don't have to. I know that you don't-»

 

«Since when?»

 

Castiel bit his lips, moistening them. «Since I saw your soul for the first time, Dean.» A warm and lonely tear went down his cheek. «Since I pulled you out of Hell... something in me began to change. I couldn't do anything about it» he ended, whispering.

 

Dean opened his hand; he was trembling slightly; the wrinkled fabric was stretched before being pulled back. «Don't make me do it.»

 

«I don't. It's okay. It's all right.» His throat was locked and his voice was reduced into a trembling moan.

 

Dean stared at him.

«For you isn't...it's okay» said, giving him one of their intense looks they often shared.

 

Dean leaned more towards him;  their faces were very close, their noses brushed briefly because Dean turned back.

 

«Don't make me do this. Do not make me fall in love with you. Don't-»

 

He gasped, his eyes were wet and Dean's head was down, his hands around him - one on the door and one on the squeezes the jersey of the chest.

 

Finally he looked up; a tough, but deeply troubled look rested upon him.

«In my family, nothing has ever ended happily. Do not make me do it.»

 

Saying this, he lowered his arms and went out of his room.


End file.
